The Dursley household buzzed with activity as the family prepared for their move to Cambridge. Boxes were packed, furniture was wrapped, and the air was thick with a mix of excitement and apprehension. Lucas stood amidst the chaos, his emerald eyes taking in the scene, his mind processing the implications of the recent changes in his life.
"Boy! Don't just stand there!" Vernon barked, his face flushed as he hefted a large box into the moving van. "Make yourself useful and grab a box!"
Lucas nodded, snapping out of his reverie. He picked up a smaller box and carried it towards the van, his thoughts still swirling with the events of the past few weeks. The meetings between the multi-disciplinary team, The Perse School, and his aunt and uncle had been intense, with whispered discussions about the school funding their move to Cambridge as a condition of his attendance.
As he loaded the box into the van, Lucas overheard Petunia muttering to herself, "I can't believe they're paying for all of this... a new house, a new life... all because of the boy's freakish abilities."
Lucas stretched, his arms behind his back as he considered the implications of their move. The blood wards that had protected him since his parents' deaths were almost definitely not tied to the house on Privet Drive. He closed his eyes, focusing on the faint presence he had felt during his Occlumency training sessions. It was a subtle sensation, like a warm embrace that reminded him of the concepts of home, blood, and safety.
He recalled the words Dumbledore had spoken in the books: "While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort. He shed her blood, but it lives on in you and her sister. Her blood became your refuge. You need return there only once a year, but as long as you can still call it home, whilst you are there he cannot hurt you."
Lucas sorted through the information, his deductions clear and deliberate. The blood wards weren't anchored solely to the physical structure of the house. Rather, they were intricately tied to the essence of blood and familial connections. This realization came to him during his Legilimency exercises, particularly when he probed Petunia's mind and detected that same protective presence.
As the last of the boxes were loaded, Lucas climbed into the backseat of the Dursleys' car, his mind already thinking about plans for the future. He knew that revealing his intellectual potential to the Muggle world was nevertheless a risk even with the blood wards, especially with Death Eaters still at large, their hatred for Muggles and desire for revenge against the Boy Who Lived as strong as ever.
But Lucas was ambitious. This new world he had been reincarnated into was the one he would live in for the foreseeable future, and he was determined to make the most of it. Hiding away in a corner, practicing magic in secret, was not an option. He needed to establish himself, to create powerful allies in both the Muggle and magical worlds.
As the car sped along the highway, he closed his eyes, allowing his mind to drift into the vast sea of his consciousness. He took a deep breath, letting the tranquility of the scene fill him. Speaking of hiding, he mused, invisibility would be an invaluable spell. Whether it be for hiding from enemies, sneaking into forbidden places, or acquiring advanced books from Cambridge's libraries that would be deemed too advanced for the level of knowledge publicly known about him, such a spell would serve all these purposes brilliantly.
As he floated above the mirror-like sea, a memory from his past life surfaced, rising from the depths of his mind like a bubble seeking the surface. He saw himself as a young boy, playing hide-and-seek with his friends in a half-constructed building. The sun-dappled concrete and exposed beams created a labyrinth of hiding spots, perfect for their game.
Suddenly, the distant sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the structure, accompanied by the gruff voices of construction workers. Lucas and his friends scattered, their hearts pounding as they sought out the best places to conceal themselves.
Lucas squeezed into a narrow gap between two walls, his small body pressed against the rough concrete. As the footsteps drew closer, Lucas felt a surge of fear and desperation. He closed his eyes tightly, his young mind filled with a single, fervent wish: "Please don't see me, please!"
The memory's specifics blurred and drifted away, yet the emotions it sparked lingered, rolling through Lucas's consciousness like gentle waves in an endless, calm sea. He embraced this sensation, allowing it to permeate his essence.
In his mind's eye, he visualized his magical and physical presence merging seamlessly with the serene expanse of the ocean, his existence blending into the vast, undisturbed waters. His being dissolved until he became indistinguishable from the tranquil sea, a mere ripple on the surface that even the most observant gaze would pass over without notice.
As he committed to practicing this mental imagery throughout the entirety of the car ride, sharpening his will and intent to hide, Lucas was acutely aware that he couldn't cast the invisibility spell just yet, not while he was in public. This continuous mental exercise served as his preparation, laying the groundwork for the moment he could safely bring his invisibility to fruition.
The car pulled up to their new home in Cambridge, and Lucas opened his eyes, the vast sea of his consciousness receding to the back of his mind. He stepped out of the car, secure in the knowledge that the blood wards would continue to protect him as long as Petunia lived in their new home and he considered it his own.
Lucas didn't like relying on the blood wards, but considering they had kept Harry safe in the original timeline, he felt it was a risk worth taking. He glanced at the house, its pristine white walls and neatly trimmed hedges a stark contrast to the chaos of the move. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly as he held his small box, its weight familiar and comforting in his palm. A quiet assurance shone in his emerald eyes as he walked towards the front door, ready to face the challenges and opportunities that awaited him in this new chapter of his life.
oo0ooOoo0oo
Lucas stood at the entrance of The Perse School, his emerald eyes scanning the impressive architecture and well-manicured grounds. The historic buildings, with their red brick facades and large windows, spoke of academic excellence and tradition. Students in crisp uniforms milled about the campus, their laughter and chatter filling the air.
As he made his way towards the Pelican School building, Lucas's steps were measured and purposeful. The past month had been a whirlwind of assessments, meetings, and discussions about his extraordinary abilities. He had watched with concealed mirth as the educational psychologists and other experts had marveled at his performance on tests meant for toddlers.
These exercises had been child's play for Lucas, given his unique circumstances as a reincarnated soul. But what had truly surprised him was the realization that his mental abilities had been steadily increasing ever since he had begun using his vast sea visualization for Occlumency and controlling his magic. His memory, in particular, had become sharper and more expansive, allowing him to absorb and retain information with remarkable ease.
Lucas had made the conscious decision to showcase his abilities, rather than hiding them. He recognized the incredible opportunity that his reincarnation presented, and he was determined to take full advantage of it. By securing a better education, resources, and connections with a prestigious institution like The Perse School, he could lay the foundation for a brighter, more successful future.
As he entered the classroom, Lucas found himself surrounded by children who were several years his senior. The teacher, a kind-faced woman with warm brown eyes, greeted him with a smile and introduced him to the class.
"Everyone, this is Harry Potter," Mrs. Hawkins said, her voice warm and welcoming. "He will be joining us for Year 3, and I expect you all to make him feel at home."
The other students regarded him with a mix of curiosity and surprise, clearly taken aback by the presence of such a young child in their midst. Lucas, however, remained calm and composed, his posture straight and his gaze steady.
As the lesson began, Lucas found himself immersed in a world of basic arithmetic and simple reading comprehension. Mrs. Hawkins stood at the front of the class, her voice engaging as she guided the students through the material.
"Alright, class," Mrs. Hawkins said, her eyes scanning the room. "Let's start with a warm-up problem. If I have 15 apples and my friend gives me 27 more, how many apples do I have in total?"
Lucas's hand rose swiftly, his fingers uncurling with a deliberate motion. He had solved the problem the moment it had been posed, but he waited patiently for Mrs. Hawkins to call on him.
"Yes, Harry?" she said, her smile encouraging.
"You would have 42 apples in total," Lucas replied, his voice clear and confident.
Mrs. Hawkins nodded, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Excellent work, Harry! That's correct."
As the lesson continued, Lucas navigated the material with ease, his mind absorbing the information like a sponge. He knew that the content was far below his true level of knowledge, but he also understood the importance of pacing himself and not drawing too much attention to his extraordinary abilities.
Instead, he focused on honing his Legilimency skills, his emerald eyes darting from one classmate to another as he delved into their surface thoughts. Some regarded him with genuine curiosity, their minds filled with questions about the young prodigy in their midst. Others, however, radiated a sense of jealousy and resentment, their thoughts tinged with bitterness at the attention he was receiving.
Lucas made a mental note to avoid those students, instead focusing on those who seemed more receptive to his presence. He approached a girl with blonde pigtails and a friendly smile, her thoughts revealing a genuine interest in getting to know him.
"Hi," he said, his voice warm and inviting. "I'm Harry. What's your name?"
The girl grinned, her blue eyes sparkling. "I'm Emily. It's nice to meet you, Harry! You're really smart, aren't you?"
Lucas chuckled, shaking his head modestly. "I just like to learn new things. What about you? What's your favorite subject?"
As they chatted, Lucas used his Legilimency to gauge Emily's reactions, tailoring his responses to match her interests and sense of humor. By the end of the conversation, he had made a new friend, one who would help him navigate the social landscape of the classroom.
Throughout the day, Lucas continued to excel in his studies, his hand always the first to rise when a question was asked. He requested additional work from Mrs. Hawkins, his thirst for knowledge seemingly insatiable.
"Mrs. Hawkins," he said, his voice polite and respectful. "I was wondering if you had any extra reading materials I could borrow. I'd love to learn more about the topics we're covering in class."
Mrs. Hawkins smiled, her expression a mix of surprise and delight. "Of course, Harry. I'll put together a packet of advanced reading for you. It's wonderful to see a student so eager to learn."
As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Lucas gathered his belongings and made his way towards the door.
He knew that he would likely be attending Hogwarts when he turned 11, which left him with a limited window of opportunity to complete his Muggle education. By accelerating his learning and finishing university before his Hogwarts letter arrived, he could enter the magical world with a wealth of knowledge and a strong foundation in the sciences and humanities.
oo0ooOoo0oo
The incessant ringing of the doorbell and the cacophony of voices outside shattered the fragile silence that had settled over the Dursley household. Petunia's head snapped up, her eyes widening as the shrill sounds echoed through the entryway, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her apron.
"Who on earth could that be?" she hissed, casting a worried glance toward the living room, where Vernon sat watching television, his beefy frame sinking into the plush sofa. "And how did they find us so quickly?"
Crossing the room with brisk, anxious steps, Petunia peered through the curtains, her breath catching in her throat as she took in the sight before her. A small crowd had gathered on their front stoop, a cluster of reporters clutching microphones, cameras, and notepads, their expressions a nauseating blend of eagerness and determination.
The media. They had already descended upon their home like a pack of vultures, mere days after the meetings with the multi-disciplinary team and the assurances of privacy.
Petunia's hands trembled as she whirled away from the window, her heart pounding against her ribcage. This was her worst nightmare realized, the one thing they had been promised would be handled with discretion and care.
"Vernon!" she called out, her voice a strangled whisper. "Vernon, you need to come here, now!"
With a grumble of annoyance, Vernon heaved himself up from the sofa, his footsteps heavy on the carpeted floor as he made his way to the entryway. "What is it, Pet? Can't a man get a bit of peace and quiet in his own-"
His words died on his lips as he caught sight of constant camera flashes through the curtains, his ruddy complexion deepening, the veins in his neck bulging. "Blasted vultures!" he roared, his meaty hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Don't they have any respect for privacy? Any decency?"
Petunia wrung her hands, her eyes darting back and forth as if searching for an escape route, the flashes of camera bulbs piercing through the closed curtains like strobing beacons. "What are we going to do, Vernon?"
Vernon's jaw clenched so tightly that Petunia thought she could hear his teeth grinding together, a vein throbbing in his temple as he considered their options. Part of him wanted nothing more than to throw open the door and give those vultures a piece of his mind, to send them scurrying back to whatever gutter they had crawled out of.
"Open up in there!" came a muffled shout from outside, the sound of fists pounding on the door. "We know the boy genius is in there! Give us a statement!"
Vernon's face turned an even deeper shade of puce, and he took a step towards the door, his shoulders squaring as if preparing for battle. "Why, I'll give them a statement, all right," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
Petunia's eyes widened in alarm, and she hurried to place herself between her husband and the door, her hands splayed against his broad chest. "Vernon, no! You can't do that! Think of the reputation damage, the attention it would bring!"
The reporters' voices grew louder, more insistent, as camera flashes continued to strobe through the closed curtains like a demented light show. "Come on, folks! Give us something to work with here!"
Vernon's chest heaved with barely restrained fury, his nostrils flaring as he glared at the door, seemingly torn between the desire to confront the media hounds and the practicality of keeping a low profile.
Petunia pressed closer, her voice pleading. "Please, Vernon. We have to ignore them, who knows what they'll ask of us. They'll get bored eventually and move on."
But even as the words left her lips, she could hear the doubt creeping into her tone, the fear that this was only the beginning of a storm they were ill-equipped to weather.
As the hours ticked by, the Dursleys found themselves held hostage in their own home, jumping at every sound, flinching at every flash of movement outside their windows. The reporters were relentless, camped out on their doorstep like a pack of hungry wolves, their voices carrying through the thin glass as they speculated and theorized about the unprecedented young prodigy.
"Can you believe it, Vern?" Petunia whispered, her eyes wide and haunted as she peered through the curtains once more, the flashes of camera bulbs illuminating her pale, drawn features. "All this fuss over our Harry? It's... it's unnatural, that's what it is. And how did they find out so quickly? Those experts promised us discretion!"
Vernon grunted, his jaw set in a grim line as he stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the chaos unfolding outside. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, as if itching to throttle someone. "Someone must have leaked the information," he growled, his voice laced with venom. "Mark my words, Pet, there'll be hell to pay for this breach of trust."
But as the hours ticked by, and the reporters showed no signs of relenting, Petunia couldn't help but feel a creeping sense of dread. This was only the beginning, she realized, her stomach twisting into knots. The world had caught a glimpse of her nephew's extraordinary abilities, and they would stop at nothing to uncover the truth behind the boy who defied all logic and reason.
And as much as she wanted to believe that the chaos would eventually die down, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered that their lives would never be the same again.
oo0ooOoo0oo
The relentless cacophony of shouted questions and the incessant flashes of camera bulbs continued unabated for hours, showing no signs of respite. As the hands of the clock inched closer to 2:30 pm, Petunia found herself pacing the length of the living room, her footsteps quick and sharp against the hardwood floor. Her fingers twisted together, the skin around her nails turning white from the pressure.
"Vernon," she hissed, her voice tight as she cast a furtive glance toward the curtained windows, beyond which the media circus raged on. "It's nearly time to pick up Dudley and Harry from their schools."
Vernon, who had taken up a grim vigil on the sofa, his arms crossed over his broad chest, grunted in acknowledgment. The lines on his forehead deepened, and his eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw working as he clenched his teeth.
"Those blasted vultures are still out there," he growled, his voice a low rumble, like distant thunder. "Hovering like a pack of hyenas, waiting to tear our family's good name to shreds."
Petunia's hands fluttered to her throat, her fingers pressing against the base of her neck as if to stem the rising tide of panic. "What are we going to do, Vernon? We can't very well leave the house with them camped out like that. And we certainly can't have Dudley coming home to this... this madness." Her voice wavered, the last word catching in her throat.
Vernon's nostrils flared, and he rose to his feet, his movements heavy and deliberate as he lumbered over to the back windows to peer out into the garden beyond. His shoulders tensed, the fabric of his shirt straining against the sudden rigidity of his posture.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, the words grinding out between clenched teeth. "They've got the whole place surrounded. No way we're slipping out the back this time."
Petunia's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening, the whites stark against her pallid skin. The thought of being trapped within their own home, held hostage by the very people they had worked so hard to avoid, sent a shiver down her spine, her stomach twisting into knots.
"Then what do you propose we do?" she asked, her words coming out in a breathless rush. "We can't keep Dudley cooped up at that school forever, and we certainly can't bring him home to this... this circus."
Vernon's expression hardened, his features settling into a mask of grim determination. He drew himself up to his full, imposing height, his chin jutting forward. "We'll have to face them," he said, each word falling like a hammer blow. "Show them that we're not intimidated by their tactics, that we're still in control of our own lives."
Petunia's heart sank, a leaden weight settling in her chest. She shook her head, the movement sharp and jerky. "No, Vernon, we can't! Think of the reputation damage, the attention it would bring! We've worked so hard to maintain our privacy, our normalcy."
"And what choice do we have, Pet?" Vernon countered, his voice rising, the words clipped and harsh. "We can't hide forever, and we certainly can't abandon our son to those vultures."
A heavy silence descended over the room, punctuated only by the muffled shouts and camera flashes from outside. Petunia's mind raced, her thoughts a whirlwind of fear and anxiety, of carefully constructed plans and meticulously maintained facades crumbling to dust.
Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, the words seeming to stick in her throat. "You're right, Vernon. We have to face them, for Dudley's sake."
Vernon nodded, his expression grim but resolute. "Precisely. Now, let's get out there and show those blasted reporters that the Dursley family won't be cowed by their tawdry tactics."
With hearts pounding and nerves stretched taut, Petunia and Vernon made their way to the front door, their movements slow and deliberate. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of sound seemed amplified tenfold, the air thick with tension and the specter of discovery.
At last, they reached the door, and Vernon rested his hand on the knob, the metal cool beneath his palm. He cast one final glance at Petunia, his eyes meeting hers in a moment of silent communication. She nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line, and he turned the knob, the click of the latch sounding like a gunshot in the stillness.
The door swung open, revealing the throng of reporters beyond, their faces eager and expectant, their cameras and microphones at the ready. The noise was deafening, a cacophony of shouted questions and the rapid clicking of camera shutters, like a thousand insects swarming in the afternoon sun. Petunia flinched, her shoulders hunching, her hands instinctively rising to cover her ears as the chaos assaulted her senses.
Vernon, however, stood firm, his jaw set in a grim line as he surveyed the media horde. He raised a hand, demanding silence, and slowly, the tumult began to die down, replaced by an expectant hush.
"We have no comment," he bellowed, his voice carrying over the hushed murmurs of the reporters, each word a declaration of defiance. "Our family's privacy is not for sale, and we will not be intimidated by you."
A renewed flurry of questions and camera flashes erupted, but Petunia barely registered them, her mind focused solely on maintaining her composure, on projecting an air of control and normalcy in the face of this chaotic intrusion into their lives.
As Vernon ushered her through the throng, his bulk serving as a buffer against the onslaught of microphones and camera lenses, Petunia realized that their lives would never be the same again. The carefully cultivated facade of normalcy they had worked so hard to maintain had been shattered, and in its place was a new reality, one in which their family's name and reputation would be forever tied to the maelstrom of media attention and public scrutiny.
And as they climbed into the relative sanctuary of their car, Petunia couldn't help but wonder if the price they were paying for their nephew's "gifts" was simply too high, the weight of that knowledge settling like a stone in the pit of her stomach.
oo0ooOoo0oo
Petunia's heart raced as she and Vernon pulled up to Dudley's preschool, the weight of the media circus they had just escaped still heavy on her shoulders. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the task of explaining the situation to her young son, knowing that he would be too young to fully comprehend the gravity of their predicament.
As they entered the school, Petunia plastered a smile on her face, determined to maintain an air of normalcy for Dudley's sake. She found him playing happily with his classmates, blissfully unaware of the chaos that awaited them at home.
"Dudley, darling," she called out, her voice wavering slightly. "It's time to go home."
Dudley looked up, his cherubic face breaking into a grin as he spotted his parents. He bounded over to them, his small hands reaching out to be picked up.
Vernon scooped him into his arms, his expression softening for a moment as he held his son close. "Hey there, little tyke. Ready to head home?"
Dudley nodded eagerly, his eyes shining with excitement. "Can we have ice cream when we get there, Daddy?"
Petunia's heart clenched, and she exchanged a worried glance with Vernon. How could they possibly explain to their innocent child that their home had been invaded by a horde of reporters, all clamoring for a glimpse of his cousin's extraordinary abilities?
"We'll see, Dudders," Vernon said, his voice strained. "But first, we need to pick up your cousin from his school."
Dudley's face fell, and he pouted, his lower lip trembling. "But I want ice cream now!"
Petunia reached out to stroke his hair, her touch gentle and reassuring. "I know, darling. But we have to take care of some grown-up things first. Can you be a big boy and wait a little while?"
Dudley considered this for a moment, then nodded, his expression still sullen but resigned.
As they made their way to The Perse School, Petunia's thoughts turned to Harry, and the conversation they would need to have with him. She knew that, despite his young age, her nephew possessed an uncanny intelligence and maturity that belied his years. She had seen it in the way he spoke, the way he carried himself, and the way he seemed to understand far more than any child his age should.
They found Harry waiting for them outside the school, his emerald eyes bright and alert as he spotted their car. He climbed into the backseat beside Dudley, his expression curious as he took in the tense silence that hung between his aunt and uncle.
"Harry," Petunia began, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "We need to discuss something with you."
Harry tilted his head, his gaze steady and unwavering. "Is it about the reporters outside our house?"
Petunia blinked rapidly, her knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. "Yes," she said slowly, drawing out the word. "How did you...?"
Harry lifted one shoulder in a shrug, his young face pensive. "It was bound to happen eventually. People are intrigued by what I can do and want explanations."
Petunia felt a chill run down her spine at the matter-of-fact way he spoke, as if he had been expecting this all along. She swallowed hard, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as they drove back towards their home.
As they approached the house, the throng of reporters came into view once more, their cameras and microphones at the ready. Petunia's heart sank, and she glanced back at Harry, her expression worried.
"Harry, I don't know if this is a good idea. Those people... they're relentless. They'll stop at nothing to get what they want."
But Harry merely smiled, his expression calm and assured. "I know, Aunt Petunia. But we can't hide from them forever. They need to be given something, or they'll never leave us alone."
Petunia's breath caught in her throat, and she looked to Vernon, her eyes wide with uncertainty. He met her gaze, his own expression troubled, but after a moment, he nodded slowly.
"The boy's right, Pet," he said gruffly. "We can't keep running from this. Better to face it head-on and get it over with."
Petunia's heart raced as they stepped out of the car, the flashes of camera bulbs and the shouts of reporters assaulting her senses once more. She held Dudley close, shielding him from the chaos as best she could, while Vernon placed a protective hand on Harry's shoulder.
But to her amazement, Harry seemed utterly unfazed by the media circus. He walked forward with a confidence and poise that belied his years, his emerald eyes bright and focused as he approached the throng of reporters.
"Hello," he said, his young voice carrying clearly. " I'm Harry Potter, and I'm here to answer your questions."
The reporters stilled, their faces slack with astonishment. Then the questions burst forth, a deluge of words punctuated by the click and whir of cameras.
"Harry, how did you become so intelligent at such a young age?"
"What's it like to be a child prodigy?"
"Can you demonstrate some of your knowledge for us?"
Harry held up a hand, his expression calm and assured. "Please, one at a time. I'll do my best to answer your questions, but I ask that you respect my family's privacy and the privacy of my classmates."
The reporters nodded eagerly, their eyes fixed on the young boy before them. One of them, a woman with short blonde hair and a determined expression, stepped forward, holding out a microphone.
"Harry, can you tell us a little bit about your thought process when solving complex problems? How do you approach challenges that would stump most adults, let alone children your age?"
Harry considered the question for a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Well, I try to break the problem down into smaller, more manageable parts. I look for patterns and connections, and I use my imagination to visualize different solutions. It's a bit like solving a puzzle, really. You have to be creative and think outside the box."
The reporter nodded, her eyes wide with amazement. "And what about your memory? How do you retain so much information at such a young age?"
Harry smiled, his expression thoughtful. "I've always had a good memory, but I also use visualization techniques to help me remember things. I create mental images and associations that make the information stick in my mind. It's a skill that anyone can learn with practice."
As the questions continued, Petunia watched in awe as her nephew handled the media with a grace and eloquence that she had never seen before. He answered each query with patience and insight, his words carefully chosen and his demeanor calm and composed.
Even when the reporters began to test his abilities, presenting him with math problems and historical questions that would stump individuals a decade older, Harry remained unflappable. He met each challenge with a quiet confidence, his mind working at lightning speed to provide the correct answers.
"Extraordinary," a reporter murmured, shaking his head. "Utterly unprecedented."
As the impromptu press conference drew to a close, Harry turned to face the cameras one last time, his young face grave. "I recognize that my intellect may seem remarkable," he said, his voice steady. "But I'm still just a child, and I want to be able to grow and learn in peace. I ask that you respect my family's privacy and allow me to continue my education without interference. Thank you."
With that, he pivoted and walked back towards the house, leaving the reporters mute and motionless in his wake.
oo0ooOoo0oo
The Wizengamot courtroom was filled to the brim, a sea of plum-colored robes and pointed hats, as Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock, took his seat at the head of the room. His face was set in a grim expression, his blue eyes devoid of their usual twinkle as he surveyed the accused – an ancient witch, her face lined with age and her eyes gleaming with a disturbing madness.
Dumbledore raised his wand, sending a shower of sparks into the air to call the court to order. "We are gathered here today," he began, his voice resonating through the chamber, "to hear the case against Griselda Grimhilde, who stands accused of the most heinous crimes against Muggles."
A murmur rippled through the crowd, and Dumbledore could see the disgust etched on the faces of all but the most staunch pureblood supremacists. The crimes of which Grimhilde was accused were beyond the pale, even for those who held little regard for Muggles.
The prosecuting official, a stern-faced wizard from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, stepped forward. "Griselda Grimhilde," he intoned, "you stand accused of using dark magic to transform over one hundred Muggles into animals, and forcing them to fight to the death for your own twisted amusement. How do you plead?"
Grimhilde cackled, her laughter echoing off the stone walls. "Guilty!" she shrieked, her eyes wide with glee. "And I'd do it again, too! Muggles are nothing more than playthings, meant for our entertainment!"
A collective gasp went up from the crowd, and Dumbledore had to raise his wand once more to restore order. "The accused will remain silent," he commanded, his voice like thunder.
The prosecution continued, presenting evidence of Grimhilde's crimes. Aurors stepped forward, using their wands to project memories into the air – scenes of terrified Muggles, their bodies contorting as they were forcibly transformed into animals, then set upon each other in brutal, bloody fights.
Even the most hardened members of the Wizengamot looked away, unable to stomach the horrific images. Dumbledore himself closed his eyes briefly, his brow furrowed.
When the defense was given a chance to speak, they could offer little in the way of mitigating circumstances. Grimhilde was clearly mad, her mind twisted by years of dark magic and a deep-seated hatred for Muggles. The best they could do was to argue for life imprisonment in Azkaban, rather than the Dementor's Kiss.
But as the Wizengamot deliberated, it became clear that there was little sympathy for the accused. Even those who normally advocated for leniency in cases involving Muggles were swayed by the sheer depravity of Grimhilde's actions.
In the end, the vote was unanimous. Dumbledore, his voice heavy with the weight of his duty, pronounced the sentence. "Griselda Grimhilde," he said, "for your crimes against Muggles and the flagrant violation of the laws of magic, this court sentences you to the Dementor's Kiss."
Grimhilde's laughter turned to screams as the Dementors glided into the courtroom, their rattling breaths filling the air with a bone-chilling cold. Dumbledore watched, his heart heavy, as the creature lowered its hood and clamped its jaws over Grimhilde's mouth, sucking out her soul in a flash of blinding light.
As the court adjourned, Dumbledore shook his head, his mind troubled by the depths of depravity to which some wizards could sink. He made his way to the elevator, lost in thought, only to be startled by a familiar voice as he stepped out into the Ministry atrium.
"Professor Dumbledore!" It was Arthur Weasley, a former student and now a promising young employee in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. He was clutching a Muggle newspaper, his face a mix of excitement and concern.
"Arthur," Dumbledore greeted, forcing a smile. "What brings you here in such a state?"
Arthur thrust the newspaper into Dumbledore's hands. "You need to see this, Professor," he said, his voice low and urgent. "It's about Harry Potter."
Dumbledore's eyes widened as he scanned the headline: "Unprecedented Child Prodigy Discovered in London Suburbs." The article went on to detail the extraordinary intellect of one Harry Potter, not yet three years old but already displaying knowledge far beyond his years.
He looked up at Arthur, his expression grave. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Arthur," he said, his voice low and urgent. "I must act quickly to ensure the boy's safety."
Arthur nodded, his face etched with concern. "Of course, Professor. Is there anything I can do to help?"
Dumbledore considered for a moment, his mind already formulating a plan. "Not at the moment, Arthur, but I may call upon you in the future. For now, I must speak with the Minister and the heads of the relevant departments."
With a swish of his wand, Dumbledore sent a Patronus message to Millicent Bagnold, the Minister of Magic, requesting an urgent meeting. He then made his way to the lifts, his purple robes billowing behind him as he strode through the atrium.
The Ministry of Magic was a hive of activity, with witches and wizards hurrying to and fro, their wands emitting sparks and flashes of light as they went about their business. Memos fluttered overhead, their enchanted wings propelling them towards their destinations, while the golden fountain at the center of the atrium depicted a wizard, a witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house-elf, all looking up at the wizard with adoring expressions.
Dumbledore paid little attention to the bustle around him, his mind focused on the task at hand. He stepped into the lift, the golden grilles sliding shut behind him, and pressed the button for the first floor, where the Minister's office was located.
As the lift ascended, Dumbledore's thoughts turned to the blood wards he had placed around Harry's home. They were powerful, ancient magic, designed to protect the boy from those who wished him harm. But they were not infallible, and if the Muggle world continued to take notice of Harry's extraordinary abilities, it could draw unwanted attention from those who sought to exploit him.
The lift came to a halt, and Dumbledore stepped out into a long, wood-paneled corridor. He made his way to the end, where a set of ornate double doors stood, flanked by two Aurors in crimson robes.
"Professor Dumbledore," one of the Aurors greeted, inclining his head respectfully. "The Minister is expecting you."
Dumbledore nodded, and the doors swung open, revealing a spacious office with a large, ornate desk at its center. Millicent Bagnold, a stern-faced witch with graying hair and piercing blue eyes, sat behind the desk, her hands folded in front of her.
"Albus," she said, rising to her feet. "I received your message. What is so urgent that it requires an immediate meeting?"
Dumbledore approached the desk, the newspaper still clutched in his hand. "It's about Harry Potter, Millicent," he said, his voice grave. "The Muggle world has discovered his extraordinary intellect, and I fear it may draw unwanted attention."
He placed the newspaper on the desk, and Bagnold leaned forward to read it. As her eyes moved across the page, her initial stern expression transformed into one of sheer astonishment.
She looked up, her mouth slightly agape. "Albus, this is extraordinary," she exclaimed, her voice tinged with disbelief. "A child of his age, to show such profound intellectual prowess—it's unheard of."
Dumbledore nodded, his hands clasped behind his back. "Precisely, Millicent. We must act quickly to ensure the boy's safety and maintain the Statute of Secrecy."
Bagnold, still reeling from what she'd read, leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowed in thought. "What do you propose, Albus?"
Dumbledore took a deep breath, his gaze steady. "We must increase the security around the boy's home, both magical and Muggle. I will work with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to assign a team of Aurors to monitor the area and ensure that no magical threats can reach him."
Bagnold nodded, her lips pursed. "And what of the Muggles? We cannot simply Obliviate an entire nation."
Dumbledore shook his head. "No, we cannot. But we can work with the Muggle authorities to ensure that the boy's privacy is protected. I will speak with the head of the Muggle Liaison Office and the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes to coordinate our efforts."
Bagnold considered for a moment, then nodded decisively. "Very well, Albus. You have my full support in this matter. Keep me informed of any developments."
Dumbledore inclined his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Thank you, Millicent. I will do everything in my power to ensure the boy's safety."
With that, he turned and strode from the office, his mind already racing with the tasks that lay ahead. He would need to speak with Amelia Bones, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, to arrange for the Aurors to be assigned to Harry's protection detail. He would also need to coordinate with the Muggle Liaison Office and the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes to ensure that any magical incidents were quickly contained and that the Muggles involved were dealt with appropriately.
As he made his way back to the lifts, Dumbledore's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowed in thought. The blood wards were powerful, yes, but they were not foolproof. If Harry's extraordinary intellect continued to draw attention, it could put him at risk from those who sought to exploit him for their own gain.
He stepped into the lift, his robes swishing around his ankles as the golden grilles slid shut.